Page 33 of Oh No, My Best Friend Hates Christmas!

When in doubt, guilt, whine, and pout.

“Baby, give me a second,” he says. I do, mostly because him calling me “baby” has short-circuited my body and brain. I couldn’t disobey even if I wanted to.

Satisfied that I’m listening, he takes his coat off, transferring the kitten from hand to hand as he does. It meows, pulling me out of my “baby” induced stupor, and I reach for it again.

“Wait,” Baz scolds, shaking his head. “So impatient.”

I’d be offended if it weren’t for the trace of amusement coating his words.

“You’d be impatient too if a big, strong man was gatekeeping cuteness from you!”

His head shakes again as he toes off his boots. I watch, foot tapping and mouth blabbing.

“You know I’m not cut out for this type of torture, Bazzy. I beg of you,hurry up. I cannot be expected to stand here for aaaaages while you take all the time in the wor–”

I’m cut off when he moves toward me, bends, hooks an arm around me – the one not holding the cat, thankfully – and throws me over his shoulder.

“Baz!” I wheeze.

He remains silent, moving us around the couch and across the living room. He stops in front of the Christmas tree and sets me down close to him, mere inches separating us. My head dips, and my eyes lock on the carrier in his hand. I reach for it, but it moves away from me.Again.

I stomp my foot.

His hand grabs my chin, forcing my head up to look at him.

“First,” he starts, and I frown.

First? How many things is he going to make me listen to before I can have a dose of little kitty cuteness?

“She’s a girl,” he continues, then his eyes narrow, challenging me. To what, I have no idea.

“Okay…” I say. “She’s a girl. Got it. Can I see her now?”

“Second,” he goes on. I groan. He squeezes my chin, demanding my focus. Begrudgingly, I give it to him.

“She’s not for Stryker.”

I tilt my head in his grip. Not for Stryker?

“But Stryker needs a cat,” I remind him. “So he can have a real marriage with Millie. That’s, like… the whole point?”

I thought I explained it pretty well… and he’s read the book,so…

“Did you not understand?” I ask. “Did we do a miscommunication again?”

“I understood,” he confirms. “But Stryker can get his own marriage kitten. This one’s mine.”

My heart stops beating.

“Yours?” I breathe.

He hums an affirmation.

“Mine, like I hope you’ll be.”

Shaking? I’m not shaking. You’re shaking.

“Heidi,” he starts, then pauses for so long that I’m not sure if he’s planning to continue.

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